Kleio B

She had no funny bones,
An image of seriousness;
People regarded her,
With a sense of wonderment.
Years went by,
Our protagonist remained glum;
A setting beauty,
In a world of warmth.
Her parents traveled places,
But they couldn’t get her to smile;
Our Ice Queen struggled,
To find a happy vibe.
Then an anonymous post arrived,
In an envelope that had a wiggle;
From inside it sprung a spring toy,
And out came her ripples of giggles.
That day has gone down in history,
As the official “Giggle” day;
People share toys to spread joy,
In a land far far away.

Through the fog of the past,
The mist of the future;
I see my life through the periscope
Of word said, deeds undone,
Dreams that may come true;
And a fear of,
“What if they do?”

Sometimes reminiscing
At other times repressing,
Pondering about,
“What if…”

I stop!
I halt the mental exercise.
Snub the gainless meanderings
Of my overworked brain.

‘Coz I can’t turn back the clock,
I can’t undo what’s done;
I can only take the learnings,
And march along.

Unbending.
Focused.
Determined to conquer,
Resolute to live;
Accepting,
“I got what I got.”

I move past the cobwebs of doubt.
Towards,
“What I deserve…”
A blissful life
Of knowing and doing the right.

It is okay to falter.
It’s no big deal if I fall;
But I will not fail.
‘Coz my epitaph will read,
“She lived. And she has no regrets!”

The lenses were large,
The mirror larger!
With squinted eyes,
She stared at the mirror.

The sun rays suddenly,
Blurred her squints;
Creating a mirage,
Of a girl gone slim.

She liked this moment,
She prolonged the pause;
Creating an illusion,
Fashionable and posh!

The clouds cleared the image,
But with the squint intact;
She strutted down the aisle,
A supermodel in her thoughts.

Happy.
Hopeful.
Playing hopscotch.
Giggles galore.

Broken.
Bleeding.
Shamed.
Bruised, black n blue.

A wail silenced.
A breath snuffed.
A hope killed.
Humanity disgraced.

Red spilled on the horizon,
Shame smeared their souls;
An excruciating pain plundered…
Deafening shouts shook the earth.

But those men celebrated their loot,
Their masculinity forced on innocents;
Are they really men?
Because God made men as saviours,
Not to damage and violate.

Dreading the dead,
The cacaphonic wail;
That sinister moon,
The shivering child,
Ran up the stairs;
Covering his head,
In Momma’s hair;
Ignoring that stench,
That soaked-
Momma’s bed.

Cold as marble,
Still sweating a rain;
With shaking hands,
The child again,
Grappling the dark;
Pulled the blanket,
To cover his Momma;
All in vain.

Momma so still,
No flicker of breath,
Lay inert;
In the land of dead!
A sudden crash,
Shook the child;
Sirens blared,
Threatening the babe!

The sound a gong,
Of volcanic make;
Were they taking
His Momma away?
Shaking in shock,
He cried in pain
“Child, it’s a fever!”, she whispered
“Momma’s right here.”
Holding his Momma tight,
The child slept again.